Negdren leaned forward and whispered, “You know, Captain, she was beautiful. The best I’ve ever—”
Berg’s hand snapped upwards like a striking snake, closing around Negdren’s top knot and jerking down. The move caught the colonel off balance and unawares. He tumbled over and his head slammed to the deck.
Berg scrambled to his feet. Negdren managed to get to his hands and knees, his shoulders sagging and his head hanging down.
Berg hesitated. He wouldn’t hit a man once he was down. Then he thought of Arissa and his steel-tipped boot lashed out and caught Negdren squarely in the face.
The colonel fell and moved no more. The stain of crimson against the white deck told Berg that he had at least broken Negdren’s nose.
Berg glanced down the hall to make sure know one was coming and then he bent down and began searching the colonel’s person, stopping only when he found the data crystal he knew had to be there.
• • •
In the end, there was no reason for Berg to go back. He had quickly copied the crystal and returned the original to Negdren’s prone form. Negdren would wake to find his crystal still there and so would conclude that the fight had truly been about a woman.
On the eve of battle, Illyria would know the Federation’s mind.
And there was no reason to go back for Arissa, now that he knew exactly what he was to her.
Then he saw those gray-green eyes, remembered the smell of her, and none of the logical reasons mattered.
An hour after the fight he found himself back at her quarters.
Arissa opened the door before he could knock. She wore a shimmering silk robe the cool color of dark grass. Berg couldn’t help noticing that it barely reached her knees and that she obviously wasn’t wearing anything else underneath.
She stepped aside to allow him in.
“Who is Katrina?” Berg asked, his voice hard.
“That is none of your—”
“Who is Katrina?” Berg roared.
Arissa’s jaw set, but after a moment she said, “My sister. She was my sister. She was five.” She swallowed. “When the pirates killed her.”
“You were praying for strength,” Berg said angrily. “Praying in her name. Strength for what, Arissa?” He held up the copy of Negdren’s crystal. “Strength enough to betray Thor’s Army and Illyria?”
“No,” she whispered. “Strength enough to pretend I didn’t want you. You know how long it’s been since a man wanted to talk to me?”
Berg’s heart melted.
And then he remembered her sleeping innocently in the bed. And Negdren arriving at her room not ten minutes later. “You tell a pretty story,” he said coldly.
She tilted her head, an expression of hurt sketched across her face. “Please, Douglas—”
Berg’s hand slashed through the air, cutting her off. “No. You came to me because Negdren sent you to me.”
“It’s true that Negdren wanted me to come to you. It’s not true that’s why I came.”
“I have the crystal, Arissa.”
“Have you read it yet?” she asked sharply.
Berg opened his mouth, but before he could say anything she bent down and retrieved a reader from the table. She thrust the hand device at him.
Berg slowly took it from her, attached the crystal, and began to scroll down the small screen. “I never told you any of this,” he said slowly. “And . . . this is wrong. There aren’t three lances of ’Mechs on Reykavis, only one. And there isn’t a reinforced battalion on Trasjkis. That force is no more than company strength. And . . .”
He looked up. “These are all lies.”
She nodded. “Lies that Negdren will believe. Because he thinks I got them from you.”
“They make us look much stronger than we really are.”
“Yes, they do,” said Arissa tightly. “And so there will be no war. Little Bob will look at this intel and he’ll think twice about attacking Illyria.”
Berg swallowed. “I—”
“Don’t bother to thank me,” she snapped. “I did it for Katrina. Not for you.”
He reached for her, gathered her into his arms. She pulled back for a second, then collapsed against his chest, her body shaking softly with silent sobs.
“It’s OK,” Berg whispered. “You sell your body and I sell my life. But there is a part of us—”
“Yes,” she whispered back to him. “A part of us that cannot be sold.
EN PASSANT
by Phaedra M. Weldon
Draconis March, Federated Suns
7 October 3065
The click of Päl Wyndham-Sandoval’s polished boots echoed off the corridor walls leading from Duke Sandoval’s library and study. The braid from his top-knot swung around to brush his cheek. He moved it away with an impatient hand. The sword, which went with his dress uniform, bumped against his left thigh, and with every determined step he ground another piece of his own frustrations beneath a heel. Within an hour of his arrival on Robinson the world had turned one-hundred and eighty degrees.
Servants stood aside in the wide hall to let him pass. He acknowledged them with barely a nod. Broad events preoccupied his thoughts: James Sandoval no longer directed the course of the family dynasty. Mai Fortuna no longer led the Robinson Rangers. Tancred Sandoval now bore the ducal title, and he had shifted Robinson’s support in the ongoing civil war away from Katrina Steiner-Davion to her brother, Victor.
Päl’s life had been altered by events beyond his control. Just as it had when Arthur Steiner-Davion was assassinated. Päl had been in that stadium, listening to Arthur’s address, seated with other cadets of the Battle Academy when explosions rocked the proceedings. Events born of that calamity played out at an alarming speed, enveloping him each time he caught his breath. Then-Duke James Sandoval, blaming the attack on the Draconis Combine. Tancred, choosing not to rejoin with the Rangers. Päl had been tapped to take his place, promoted to Leftenant. The young scion, feeling like a chess piece being shifted about a board.
Returning to his family’s estates on Exeter, saying goodbye to his wife and newborn son, and
